


All That Glitters

by Sashataakheru



Category: The Chaser RPF
Genre: Australian Film Institute Awards 2006, Celebrations, Champagne, Community: smut69, Drunken sex, Hotel Rooms, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-08
Updated: 2006-12-08
Packaged: 2018-08-09 23:26:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7821400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sashataakheru/pseuds/Sashataakheru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-AFI Awards 2006. Chris and Andrew celebrate after Andrew’s win.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All That Glitters

If Chris had been sober, he might not’ve leapt out of his chair when they announced Andrew had won the AFI for best performance in television comedy, but his semi-dazed mind thought it was the best reaction to the situation. No, he wasn’t drunk yet, the night was still early, but give him time, and he’d be getting plastered with Andrew later on to celebrate. Well, it was the last of the awards they were nominated for, so now they could relax and get drunk. He almost thought he saw Andrew give him a look as he was making his acceptance speech, but he put it down to his stupid semi-drunk brain. Maybe it was the lights or something, but Chris thought he was absolutely glowing up there, large squarish crystal trophy thing in hand. 

Chris couldn’t stop giggling at the trophies. He thought they looked hilarious, although they didn’t look as dangerous as the ARIA awards, with their sharp pointy ends that you could probably use to slay a vampire. But then, Chris was finding everything hilarious the more he drank. Even the weird chandelier things hanging all over the stage seemed hilarious. It was a good thing everyone else at their table was getting drunk as well, so his inane giggling didn’t seem too out of place. Chris wondered whether it’d even be possible to find a sober person in this place. Well, apart from Chas. Chris still found it odd he didn’t drink anymore. Though he had to concede he was crazy enough when he was sober; drinking would only make him worse, or better, or something. 

Chris had to commend himself on his restraint, though. He nearly kissed Andrew out of sheer inebriated joy when he won, but remembered they weren’t alone and he probably wouldn’t appreciate it out in public like this. He’d just have to save it for later. The rest of the night passed as some alcohol-infused blur until he found himself staggering into some hotel room or something – it had a bed at any rate – with Andrew, having snuck away from everyone else. He wondered distantly if anyone had noticed their absence, had guessed what they were doing, or about to do. He glanced down to find Andrew clutching a bottle of champagne. How’d he get that? Where’d he get that? It didn’t really matter, though, as he fell backwards onto the bed, tangled with Andrew, still giggling at everything. 

The kissing was automatic, a reflex action of being so close together. There was something about drunken make-out sessions that worked for Chris. Andrew was lying on top of him now, pressing him down, and Chris was only barely aware of what was going on. He liked to think they were undressing each other, and they probably were, if his brain bothered to pay attention. He was always surprised at how automatic their making out was, how he never had to think about what to do, they just did it. So it was now. Reality was just what was happening, the details were irrelevant. 

“Did you see the look Craig was giving you all evening?” Andrew said, interrupting the kissing to speak.

“I chose to ignore him. You know he hates us for this,” Chris said, smiling, not caring at all.

“Craig can go to hell,” Andrew said, biting down on Chris’s shoulder, making him squirm beneath him.

“I think he believes he’s already there,” Chris said, unable to stop himself giggling at that.

Andrew shut him up with another heated kiss before sitting up, straddling his hips, grabbing for the champagne again. Chris just gazed up at him, lazy smile on his face, watching Andrew open the bottle and take a long swig from it. Chris jumped slightly at the pop as the cork came out, though he quickly settled again as he watched Andrew drinking, slowly moving his hands up his warm chest, his nails tracing patterns all over him. God, he looked beautiful. 

“Want some?” Andrew offered.

“Yeah,” Chris said. 

Chris found himself reaching for the bottle, propping himself up on one elbow as he took a swig. The bubbles went straight to his head. Andrew took the bottle from him and pushed him back onto the bed. Chris had never seen him look hotter or sexier when Andrew poured the champagne over him. Chris was proud at his success in managing to pull himself up, arms holding Andrew close, as he kissed and licked it off him, vaguely aware of Andrew’s arms supporting him. He wanted him badly. The combination of champagne and Andrew was intoxicating. 

Somehow they found themselves lying down on the bed again, Andrew still taking charge. Chris gathered from Andrew’s two free hands that the champagne was somewhere else. Oh, wait, there it is. Chris found himself hissing as Andrew covered him in champagne. Chris wondered distantly whether they were wise doing this on the bed, but at that moment, Andrew pushed inside him without even the tiniest hint of preparation, and Chris’ musings disappeared. He wasn’t in pain or anything; he was far too used to Andrew doing what he wanted and he was very good at making Chris feel wonderful, so Chris never fought him.

There was no lingering, no time given over to taking things slowly; Chris and Andrew were far too absorbed in sex. It was hard, fast, rough and dirty, with Andrew delighting in drenching them both in champagne, so by the time they’d both come, more than once, Chris remembered vaguely, the bed was wet beneath them, and they lay there, exhausted and happy in each others arms. Andrew yanked him up for one final kiss, tracing his tongue along his jaw and nibbling on his ear. Chris found himself pressing his lips around a nipple, biting it hard, delighting in Andrew’s yelp, sucking the skin hard as he dug his nails into his back. 

And then they were finally done, lying on their backs on the wet bed, staring up at nothing, grinning like idiots. 

“Was that a satisfactory way to celebrate?” Chris said, not bothering to turn his head to look at him.

“Fuck yeah. We should – we should do that every time,” Andrew said, still getting his breath back.

“You taste fucking amazing with champagne,” Chris said.

Andrew laughed. “Everything tastes fucking amazing with champagne,” he said. 

And then the night turned blurry again, and Chris somehow remembered getting home again, or somewhere else that wasn’t the room where they’d fucked, and possibly showering and possibly collapsing straight into sleep as soon as he hit the bed. All he knew was he woke somewhere else, Andrew sleeping happily beside him. Chris turned to look at him, watching him sleeping, nothing but hazy, happy memories filtering through his mind and that hilarious looking award sitting on the bedside table glittering in the sunlight. Then the hangover hit and Chris groaned, burying his head in the pillow as he rolled over and tried to wish the pain away, his punishment for such a wonderful night filled with champagne, sex and Andrew.


End file.
